


Virtues Uncounted

by whatacartouchebag



Category: RWBY
Genre: Hitman AU, M/M, Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatacartouchebag/pseuds/whatacartouchebag
Summary: When you don't know how to forget the past. When the reason is lost to the storm. You learn to trust the only thing that remains in your soul. And allow the rage to guide your footfalls.He only had one goal in life now.One way or another, he would tear the throat from his former unit from the inside out.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Virtues Uncounted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lozuyii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lozuyii/gifts).



> I'd no idea on what ground I was founded  
> Then I met you, my virtues uncounted
> 
> Based upon the Fair Game Hitman Au, created by Lo on tumblr https://sorgrcn.tumblr.com/

Dark sunglasses kept red eyes hidden from the world as he leant up against his car, almost casually watching the proceedings that stretched before him. He never wanted to be here today, but he knew his obligations to his family, even if it made his stomach roil at the thought.

Dark clouds clung to the sky, threatening to burst at a moment's notice, and the light that strained through them tinted the whole world in a muted grey. As if someone had snuffed the happiness from the world.

It made the green grass of the graveyard all the more bright and stunning.

Headstones stretched out as far as the eye could see, and for the lone man watching the trio some few hundred yards away, it was as close as he ever dared get to them. He had no right to be a part of their family anymore.

The terse sigh slipped from him as he glanced away from the scene briefly, gloved fingers ducking into pockets lest he start fidgeting with something. Though try as he might, he couldn't keep himself from watching them. Couldn't stop himself from looking in from the outside.

It almost hurt to be back here, on today of all days, but he was better at smothering his feelings than most.

The girl kneeling at the grave stood, her hands now freed from the overly large bouquet she once carried, and her father slipped a hand about her shoulders; his other still holding his oldest daughter.

Qrow felt something dull twist in his chest as brows pinched behind sunglasses. Part of him was torn, and watching the sight of his once-family huddling together was only tearing at him further. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to be with them again, hold them, help them, and support them in their shared grief.

To be part of a family again.

It was a pipe dream that was ripped from him like a newspaper in a storm, and he took in a steadying breath; thinking only of doing exactly what had brought him here in the first place.

His ties were what caused Summer to be taken from them far too early. And it was his ties that brought him to his second dilemma.

He knew it was the Ace Ops that had snatched her life away all those years ago. He knew it so well, and he felt the familiar boil of anger sitting deep in his stomach. It was an old feeling, long since dulled, but just like a carving knife, the blunt emotion was often more dangerous than a sharp one. He'd had years upon years to hone his emotions, even longer to sharpen his craft.

Qrow came back to the present as the trio began to move away, walking away from him. He knew the rest of their day would entail of happy memories, laughter, joyous stories. They continued to uphold the woman in a shining light that resonated so deeply within them all.

In truth, she was every bit the fighter as Qrow was, and the thought brought a faintly bitter smile to his lips. His memories of Summer were far different to theirs, and he would always remember her as the fiercest of them all.

The sigh slipped from him as he turned his eyes skywards. It would rain soon. Fitting.

He pushed away from the car, meandering towards the once occupied headstone, keeping his thoughts quite firmly tucked away. He'd long done his thinking, and knew there was no more life to grieve, no more love to mourn. The anger was the only thing that never abated, and he would hold it firmly in his grasp for as long as he still breathed.

The small, unassuming headstone appeared before him, and he stared down at it with a stirring sense of melancholy. He knew it would always come to this when he stood before her once again. He could never stop the aching sadness that sat between his ribs. Presented with her grave, like so many times before, all Qrow could do was stare down at the words he knew so well.

He reached up, pushing sunglasses to sit high in his hair, brushing bangs back with the action, as brows set in a firm crease above red eyes. How often had he stood here? How many years? Ruby was all grown up now, nearly ready to start college. Yang was halfway through it. Had it really been so long..?

Qrow closed his eyes with a faint murmur.

Too long, his mind whispered. Too long to hold onto his own guilt. Not long enough to let go of the rage.

He reached for his breast pocket, withdrawing the single stem of a rose that sat within it, and he turned it over in his fingers, watching the deep colour with vague interest. She always did prefer the darkest of red roses.

He knelt, careful to not disturb the others, and placed it gently alongside them.

“This time...”

Words slipped from him as fingers reached for the headstone, a light brush of her name.

“... it'll be the last.”

Qrow stood once more, eyes lingering on her only briefly before he turned. He'd done his grieving, done his mourning. He brought his sunglasses down once more, obscuring his eyes from the outside world as he walked back to his car.

He only had one goal in life now.

One way or another, he would tear the throat from his former unit from the inside out.

***

It was a stark room, as sterile as a doctor's office, and about as sparse as a shoebox. Acidic white light assaulted the senses as Qrow sat back in his chair, inspecting the contents of a folder before him.

The usual fare greeted red eyes; photos of a building showing exits and entrances, a dossier on the comings and goings of the regular staff, profiles on each of them, phone logs, even down to the list of deliveries for the past two weeks. He skimmed them all with vague interest, committing the stand out facts to memory; faces mainly, schedules.

For such a simple casing job, most of the work had already been done for him, and dark brows pinched lightly.

“We now know the company is being watched.”

Red eyes lifted at the voice, watching as Ozpin silently closed the door behind him. The man was as silent as smoke and as wry as a fox. A combination that did little else but tint Qrow with simultaneous awe and perhaps deep concern. He was never too sure what the emotion was, but he knew well enough that it meant he would attempt to stay on the good side of his blade.

“We also know why.”

Qrow gestured lightly to the spread of documents before him. “Seems like you already have a good team in place,” he remarked, quirking a brow. “Why bring me in so late?”

Lips gave a faint smile from beneath his glasses. “Normally we wouldn't, but circumstances have changed. This operation now requires a... hands on approach.”

Dark brows fell to a crease once more, and he let his eyes drop to the list of employees once more. He knew what those words meant, and he was already skimming through those at the top of the chain. Maybe not all the way at the top, but the second in command... Maybe even a step below that.

He leant forward, sitting his chin on his hand as he raised his eyes to the man once more.

“Alright. Is it going to be quiet?”

“Distant. We don't want to risk anymore blood on the sand.”

“When?”

“Two days from now.”

His frown deepened. “That's... very limited.”

“That's all we have.” Ozpin reached into his pocket, withdrawing a packet of cigarettes and slipping one between his lips. “After that, the target will have moved on, going by his phone records. He has an account in Vale that has been generating a lot of movement recently, so it's safe to say that's where he intends to hide.”

Qrow bit off the curse on the back of his tongue.

“Who is it?”

Ozpin told him the name, and red eyes flicked down to the photo of a man staring back at him.

“Fine. Two days from now.” He stood from his place, scraping the files together and closing the folder once more. He'd have to meet with the team, find out everything he could from the ground up, and then get himself into place for the finale. Though being a distant job meant time to escape. It meant his hands were essentially clean unless he was spotted. But...

He _hated_ having such a short time frame to work with. Though it wasn't as if he hadn't done it before.

In his mind, rushed jobs always felt messy. Sloppy. When schedules changed, it usually meant that someone else behind the scenes had moved a piece upon the chessboard, and the rest of them were suddenly playing catch up.

He walked to the door, hand falling upon the handle when Ozpin cleared his throat softly.

“How were they?”

Red eyes narrowed at the audacity of the question, giving him a soft pause. Gloves emitted a faint creak from how they tightened about the handle.

“Same as always,” he breathed, bringing himself back from the memory of the trio.

A beat of time, and Qrow had to wonder if the man behind him had simply vanished. Not that he'd have any such luck with that.

“How was... she?”

The ripple of anger tore up his spine, white-hot and forcing the breath from him. He swallowed through a tight throat at the words, forcing himself to simply remember how to breathe for a handful of time.

The man had  _no right_ to ask such a thing.

“... same as always,” the words slipped from him like a muttered curse, and he pushed himself out the door before he could say anything else. Before he could spit out the venom that sat on his lips, just begging for release.

The words stung bitterly on his tongue as he walked through the comparatively dark hall. Same as always, his mind repeated. Continuing on with their lives. Allowing themselves to grieve, to live, to forget. He couldn't allow himself to do that if he tried, and Ozpin knew exactly why.

Hell, he was the bastard that kept prodding the wound, after all.

Qrow bit back the hiss of a sigh.

He would never let himself stop hating the Ace Ops.

***

The meeting went about as well as he expected. Glynda had seen to it that all the necessary preparations were in place for his arrival, and since Qrow had already memorised most of the material beforehand, there was hardly a ripple when it came time to move.

Their safehouse was almost too glamorous for the mission. It sat on the fringes of Atlas, and whilst not in the more elitist part of town, it was still large enough to accommodate the needs of the dozen or so people moving about within its walls. It had been rented under the guise of a rather studious movie production team; one that demanded absolute privacy for the crew involved on the project.

The contract had been signed under a false name, and hands got to work unloading the gear and equipment that would ensure things ran smoother.

Well, smooth as could be.

Red eyes narrowed as he watched the feeds from the cameras, flitting between each one of them on the array of monitors before him. It had been nothing for the team to connect to the security system of their monitored building, sitting almost casually in the depths of it as they gutted the place from the inside out. Judging from the thick head of white hair upon the man, he didn't have the luxury of time anyway.

He almost felt like he was doing the bastard a favour.

A finger tapped his lips from where he stood, just allowing the plan to roll over in his head. It was a simple hit. Then again, all of them were, until they weren't.

Wait until the target was due to leave, intercept in the pause, make the hit, leave.

Something so elegant in its simplicity, yet he knew there were a vast amount of things waiting to go awry.

“All things going to plan, he's due to leave in three hours.”

The voice brought him back from where red eyes burned into the feed. Glynda had stepped in next to him, offering him a takeaway cup of coffee. He took it without thanks, savouring the flavour, and, more importantly, the caffeine.

“What's the event?”

Glynda gave a soft hum and turned her attention to the feed of the man's office.

“His daughter's recital, though I daresay she won't be too destroyed if he doesn't make it.”

Qrow gave a humourless quirk of his lips.

“His wife is out of state, and their son is studying abroad at the moment, so there shouldn't be too many complications this close to home,” she continued, taking a sip from her own coffee.

“Just the usual one...” he murmured absently.

“I wouldn't worry too much about that. I have it on good authority that she's... occupied for the duration of the mission.”

Red eyes glanced over to the woman, wondering just how it was that she managed to pull _that_ string. Winter nowhere near her unit or her father? That was almost unheard of.

“What rabbit hole did you send her down this time?” he asked, almost amused by the statement.

Green eyes closed briefly, looking quietly chuffed with herself. “There might have been a new warrant for your arrest in Argus. Along with a sighting that matched your description rather well.” She glanced down at the watch on her wrist. “If she's quick about it, she might even realise we're pulling her leg by tomorrow morning.”

Qrow couldn't stop the soft laugh that spilled from him. He really wished he could see her face when the penny dropped; that she'd been spending a fruitless search on a useless tip. She'd be beyond frustrated, and all it took was the sight of his very name. It almost gave him a sadistic jolt of glee.

“I've also got someone keeping an eye on her, just in case we need to snuff communications before the fact.”

Glynda raised a good point. If Winter were quicker on the uptake than usual, she risked the entire operation by calling her unit ahead to let them know of her wild goose chase. It wouldn't take long at all for the wheels to start turning, and realise the man in question was right where they  _didn't_ want him.

“Sounds like the best plan we've got,” he murmured. He drew in a low breath, letting it out in a heavy sigh, offering the woman a faint smile. “Alright, let's get moving.”

***

Fingers reached up, running through brunet hair from where he knelt. The same heavy sigh fell from his lips, as he kept eyes firmly on the street below him. So far nothing unusual. The restaurant patrons were coming and going in a steady fashion; nothing about them arose suspicion, and those that lingered had already had their profile run through their system time and time again.

Parked cars eventually moved, and the ones that remained had been long since checked and checked again. People that moved past on sidewalks were watched carefully for any sort of signs or telegraphing.

It would be so easy to get up close to someone like that.

Clover bit back the terse words on his tongue, eyes narrowing as he drew his gaze down the scope before him. The entrance as clear as if he were standing at the door itself.

He didn't mind the monotony of a job. Hell, it wouldn't be his first time finding himself falling into a pattern of watching and waiting, and he knew intimately all the ways to keep his mind alert and focused on the task at hand.

As it was, he didn't have all that long to wait for the main event, as movement stirred from the office across from him, the man taking his leave for the day, and lights falling dark behind him. In the journey from the top floor to ground level, a car had pulled up at the front, and bodyguards had filed out from both the car and the lobby, alert and on watch for anything approaching. Clover tore his gaze away once more, tapping at the piece on his ear.

“Target on the move. Eyes up people,” he breathed into his communicator, fingers falling away once more.

He knew it would be a crucial time, and green eyes scoured the lip of every raised surface around him.

“Copy.” The dark haired man reading a newspaper on a bench turned the page.

“Copy.” The petite woman laughing with friends at the restaurant.

“Copy.” The slender man chatting on his phone across the road.

The driver of the car stepped out, opening the rear door and waiting for his charge. A harried man with white hair and a full moustache strode from the lobby, briefcase in hand as he barely paid the man any attention. He stole a glance at his watch, then shot a filthy one to the man; words shot from him in an angry gesture.

Clover bit back the hiss on his tongue. Jobs, he could handle. Clients were another story.

The man slid into the back seat, a bodyguard following him and the door closing after him as the driver hurriedly made his way to his seat. The white-haired man slipped into view as he chose his seat, and the world shattered.

Looking like a snowball thrown at the glass, the impact of the bullet burst out from where it tore through it like paper. Clover's eyes shot wide as he took in the angle of it. But he was clear _behind-_

He whipped his gaze over his shoulder as he scrambled to his feet, just in time to catch a glimpse of movement on the building facing him. A disappearing weapon. A _very_ practised sniper from _that_ distance.

“Target lost! Repeat, target lost! In pursuit of suspect!” Clover shot into his communicator, already bolting from his place and vaulting over the edge. Boots pounded heavy on the roof as he took off in the direction of his sniper.

To his left, up ahead, movement, and he he caught sight of someone running behind air conditioning units some two buildings away. A flash of dark hair and dark attire, and Clover was drawing his Beretta, lining it up in haste as he took off towards the mystery attacker.

A few shots pinged off the obstacles around him, and he lead the last one, forcing the person to change their tack, boots sliding to a hasty left turn as a hand caught the brick wall before him.

Clover kept up the speed, bolting after the sniper. Whoever they were, they were small, making light of the world around them as they vaulted and ducked around cover. Fast, but Clover was faster, and he fired two more leading shots, boxing the guy into a straight line away from him.

He heard a hissed curse from the man, and it almost brought him to a complete stop.

That wasn't-

Was it?

Anger flashed through him, instant, white-hot and brimming, and boots continued to pound a heavy line towards the man. The sniper shouldered open a door, disappearing into a stairwell, and Clover was after him a few scant seconds later.

Heavy footfalls echoed in the tight stairwell, and Clover took a second to lean over the railing, Beretta aimed at the vanishing man.

In a blur of movement, a dark head of hair took off past his line of sight, with red eyes meeting his for a heartbeat of time. Then he was gone, keeping up his flight away from the operative.

It _was_.

Clover bit back the curse on his own tongue, and took off after him once more. Of all the jobs to take, he had to take this one. He refused to let the anger take over him entirely, and he leapt over the railing, landing on the stairwell opposite, and gaining a few seconds over the sniper.

The door at the base of the stairwell was already swinging shut as he shouldered his way harshly through it, and caught full sight of the fleeing man in the dingy apartment building. Without a second thought, he raised his pistol again, shooting past him and shattering plasterboard in a spray of white.

Qrow _did_ curse this time, and his boots slid a little as he changed direction again, briefly grazing a wall as he took off down an adjacent hallway. Of all the people who were watching the building-

Gods damned _Clover_.

He reached the tiny entrance doors and burst through them, distant sirens hitting his senses as he took off straight into traffic. Car tires screeched and a horn blared at him as he slid deftly across the hood, feet hitting the pavement without breaking his stride.

Clover was hot on his heels, and he followed the sniper into the alley he'd vanished into. He rounded the corner to a dead-end, finding Qrow with his shoulder to a door that wouldn't budge and red eyes snapped up to green, freezing like a deer in headlights.

Caught. He was utterly caught.

Clover didn't even hesitate and kept his Beretta levelled at the man, breathing hard.

“Branwen,” he shot in simple greeting.

Qrow was still breathing just as hard from where he stood, and he slowly withdrew from the door, raising gloved hands in easy surrender.

“You're not in Argus,” the operative stated bluntly, stalking towards him.

Red eyes narrowed faintly, allowing the faint smirk to grace his lips.

“And you're getting faster,” he taunted softly. “All those gym sessions with Harriet finally paying off?”

Clover strongly resisted the urge to shoot him.

He took in a steadying breath instead, still making his way slowly towards him, but still keeping _very_ much out of his attack range. He knew just how good Qrow was when it came to turning the tides in close quarters. He knew it better than most.

He released the soft curse under his breath. “You just couldn't stay hidden, could you.”

Qrow's expression shifted, something guarded flickering across him at the soft statement, and he drew himself up a little straighter, hands still loosely in the air.

“I happened to be in town,” he replied all too casually.

Clover held his gaze for a moment longer, before the heavy sigh escaped him, and he lowered his pistol.

“Don't make me do this again...” he breathed. It earned him a sharp huff of a laugh, with Qrow all but rolling his eyes at him.

“ _Make_ you do this again? No one's _making_ you do anything, Cloves,” he told him in dark amusement, gesturing lightly with his hands. Green eyes narrowed as the man shrugged at him in pure nonchalance. “You wanna shoot me, that's on you. But you and I both know that'd be a shame.”

There was a beat of time between them, and green eyes could only watch him, reading past the snark that sat so firmly on the surface. Qrow hadn't changed a bit. He also knew he couldn't shoot him if he tried.

Not again.

“Please, can we just talk-”

The humourless laugh cut him off.

“You run a guy down across a city block, weapon free, and you just want to _talk?_ ”

“Qrow-”

“We're done talking.”

Red eyes narrowed dangerously, all humour suddenly gone from his expression as he slowly lowered his hands.

Clover kept his gaze levelled on the man, senses on high alert, but he made no movement to raise his weapon. If Qrow wanted to be the first to move, then he would as well, even if he sorely wanted to avoid crossing that line.

Noise clattered within the door lock next to the dark haired man, and in the heartbeat of time it took for it to start opening from the inside, Qrow had bolted from his place, shouldering harshly past the startled occupant. Clover whipped his Beretta up at his disappearing form, but he knew he'd already missed his shot.

His hissed at his own hesitation and holstered the pistol, barely even registering the woman's panicked noises as she realised the man in the alley was still armed.

Clover brought a hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching lightly. After all these months – _years_ , it had been _years_ , he reminded himself – why would he choose now to return? He'd been so safe from all of them; hidden from their prying eyes and deadly intent.

Hidden from _him_.

Qrow _knew_ that he was ordered to shoot him on sight. He was a liability. A loose end.

He didn't want to be the one to do it, and he felt like blinded Justice as she held her scales aloft, judging the damned.

Sirens kept teasing his senses from the scene of the attack, and he sighed, tapping his communicator.

“Suspect lost. Repeat, suspect lost.”

Green eyes closed as he sighed heavily. The fallout of a mission failure, he could deal with. Keeping his poker face going over exactly _who_ it was he'd seen was simple enough. But he _really_ didn't want to have to deal with the wild card that was Qrow Branwen on the streets once more.

Once was enough for him.

***

Clover sat wearily at the bar, nursing the same drink he'd had for the last half hour. For as often as he found himself lost in its surface with that world-worn expression, the bartender was utterly surprised the man wasn't on his tenth by now. Fingers traced the glass, the ice long since melted and condensation touching his fingertips.

Green eyes followed the same path, and he brought the glass up to his lips, feeling the warm sear touch his tongue.

He knew now. Hindsight was a cruel mistress. He never had the clarity of mind to put two and two together in the moment as he stared into those vicious red eyes.

It was her anniversary two days ago.

He stared down the glass in his hand, elbow resting on the bar as he turned it gently in the light. He hated the stuff, but... it was always her favourite. That alone made it bearable.

Clover brought it back to the surface of the bar with a quiet sigh, placing it gently upon the coaster. He'd barely paid any mind to his surroundings, aside from the usual level of consideration he gave a foreign place, and in the short amount of time he'd been sitting there, he really felt that he couldn't care at all.

Qrow was back. The thought had been sitting on the back of his mind ever since he set eyes on the man, and his brow pinched.

All through his extraction, their debriefing, their thorough trouncing at the hands of Ironwood for failing such a _stupidly_ simple task, all through his walk back to his current apartment... the thought had dogged him. He'd carefully made no mention of the man in his report. The local authorities were chasing shadows elsewhere, and would never get even _part_ of the story.

Jacques was a man with a lot of enemies, after all. It was no surprise that he would be murdered in the long run.

Clover _was_ surprised at the reaction it drew from Winter, though not in the way he expected. Rather than murderous intent, or a fierce rage, she treated it with the mere distaste of finding a squashed caterpillar on her hand. Something quickly wiped away and cleaned up. Disposed of, before she moved on with her day.

He had an idea the feeling was always mutual in that particular family.

The thought brought the ghost of a smile to his lips, and he raised his glass once more, finishing it off for good as he tilted his head back, letting it burn down the back of his throat. He slid away from the bar, tucking hands deep into his pockets as he walked outside, feeling the cool air tickle exposed skin. He drew in a deeper breath, feeling it chill in his throat, taking away some of the fire from his drink.

Reaching for his phone, he tapped open his unread messages, sifting through the rubbish, sorting through the code, deleting what remained. Brows furrowed deep at a certain number, and he almost deleted it in his haste.

He brought it up, skimming the short message, and he came to an utter standstill, feeling the chill of more than the outside air.

“ _201 Greenwood. 4pm. Let's talk._ ”

Clover let his fingers hover above the tiny keyboard, not even _knowing_ where to start with it. Was the man having seconds thoughts? Regrets? No... no, Qrow never held onto his regrets. Green eyes narrowed faintly as he began pecking at the keys.

His intent was interrupted as a second message arrived.

“ _Leave the CIC at home and I'll bring coffee_.”

Clover couldn't help the faint quirk of his lips at that. The CIC, or counterintelligence corps, were the technical fingers and backbone of the Ace Operatives. If there was a system with security in place, it was theirs for the taking. If there was a team to be trained on counter-surveillance techniques, then they were raising the next operative for the field. If there was a person to be found, they could find them.

The one exception was the person messaging him in the middle of the night as he left a bar.

Fingers still hesitated for a moment, but Clover knew there was no real debate to be had. His mission was over. There was no more professional animosity between them tonight.

He deleted what was already sitting there, tapping out his simple reply as his breath ghosted before him in a quiet sigh, the tired smile finding him.

“ _Sounds fair._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been fun a hell to write, and I definitely want to continue this. For now, enjoy a little taste of something a bit different, and I'll see where it goes from here!
> 
> Thanks again to Lo for providing the incredible fanart that inspired this, and please check out her tumblr for more wonderful Fair Game art https://sorgrcn.tumblr.com/


End file.
